Gentle?
by mountainrivergirl
Summary: Lucy is drinking in Flynn's room (again), and that joke he played on her the first time she woke up there comes up in the conversation. A short, flirty one-shot Garcy drabble.


Just a short, flirty, one shot Garcy drabble. I'm apparently not going to get any rest until these plot bunnies all drop dead.

I don't own Timeless.

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Lucy took another gulp of the vodka, apparently not even feeling the burn anymore. Flynn chuckled at her as she tried to take another swig out of the now empty bottle and pouted her lips out at finding it empty. She tipped it further, sticking her tongue out to catch any stray drops as she shook them out, and he started full-blown laughing.

She turned to him, glaring now, but with her lips pouting out like a child's, clearly trying to look threatening and failing miserably. Damn, she was adorable. Why did she have to be quite this adorable?

Flopping down on the cot across from his, she huffed in drunken frustration. Christopher had moved the second cot in after the third time she stayed overnight (although she had done so with raised eyebrows and a clear "you better be careful with her" vibe about her that he simultaneously hated yet understood). He made his way over to his own cot and lay on his side, propping his head up on his arm so he could see her. Her cheeks were flushed from the alcohol and her eyes were tired and glassy. What a pretty picture she made, dark hair making a crazy tangle against the white of the pillow, flowery robe slipping of her shoulder, revealing her bare shoulder under her tank top.

"Lucy, we've only talked about inconsequential nothings so far, and believe me, there is nothing I would rather do than shoot the breeze with you, but, how are you? Really?"

She blinked slowly as she stared at the ceiling in thought before sitting up and shrugging off her robe and climbing under the covers.

"Really? I'm tired...like truly, really beyond tired. Exhausted."

Flynn climbed under his own covers, still sitting up to see her.

"And I'm cold. It's always cold down here, even when it's a million degrees outside."

He looked at her for a beat before pulling his gray sweater over his head and holding it across the short distance between their beds. She finally turned her head to see what he had done and paused for a moment before reaching and grabbing it, brushing his hand in the process. Flynn's heart thudded as he watched her lift barely up and pull his sweater over her head, and then lying down, snuggling deeper into it. The intimacy of the moment washed over him in a warm wave as he watched her pull her arm up to her face and sniff his scent on the sweater. She turned to lie on her side and look at him, her eyes blinking sleepily.

"Better?" He tried not to stutter.

"Much. Thank you. For the sweater, and for letting me crash in your room."

"Anytime. I mean that, Lucy, you can stop thanking me. Hell, you may as well just call it our room. I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it."

Lucy's eyes widened as he said "our room", and she bit her lip and lowered her eyes. She took a deep breath and brushed her hair over her head with her hand before fixing him with her gaze and smirking.

"I guess your faux morning after revelations do at least bring some humor into your life, so you have me to thank for that. I can handle the sleep-talking and snoring accusations, but the sex one? Come on."

He chuckled at her, "I don't expect to get away with it a second time, don't worry. Anyway, the only reason you even bought it is because you were so hungover."

"Mm?" her eyes were closed now.

"Yes, if I were to take you to bed, you could never forget sleeping with me, no matter how drunk. I would make sure of it."

As Lucy's eyes flew open, her mouth shot open in a scoff and her cheeks bloomed red, he laughed and leaned over to cut the light off but caught a wicked gleam in her eye in the split second before darkness surrounded them. He wasn't surprised when she started speaking again.

"I mean, the real lie of that one is what you said about it."

Was she really going there? Bewildered, he thought rapidly for a response.

"You don't think I would make you…respond?"

"Oh, I'm sure I'd be responsive," she paused for dramatic effect, "but there's no way I'd be gentle with you."

Lucy took in his shocked silence before fake sweetly singing "Good night" to him and rolling toward the wall as he sputtered. As her breathing evened out quickly in the minutes that followed, and he lay there waiting for sleep that he was now sure wouldn't come, he realized she was going to be the death of him. This beautiful, coy, kind, fiery, warrior angel woman was going to kill him, and she would laugh while doing it.

It would be a hell of a way to go.

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Off the subject, but I'm torn between calling him Flynn and Garcia. Flynn is how I think of him and how it seems Lucy thinks of him, so I used it here, but it also sounds odd in a fairly intimate scene. Thoughts?


End file.
